An odd thing happened to me today...as I sat in the center of yet another mysterious "grass circle". Three insects visited my world, small though I had made it. The butterfly, the charm of the year, lifted my eyes to the horizon once again. The bee continued the fateful doledroms of planning a violent coup with alien technology rival to the old queen's. And, of course, our old friend the discriminated, pacifist fly was ensnared once again by the ever enticing "light". I buzzed myself a leg or two. They didn't notice the circle, themselves being a part of it.
My three latest grapefruits acosted me roughly. How was I to know they were normal? Now, NORML I could deal with, but these were intent on geeking me back onto gravity: gravely with feeling, booming to the moon to the sun on it's run back to the simplist tune, one hum quite oft' come streaming down the trees like nobodies Pooh pajamas.
Cranberry sauce prounced merrily into the fray by tea time, galavanting about with a beutifully chromed weapon of extra-terrestrial origin. He smiled upon me many a current, middle-loading my thing king machine with it's infinate spokes a pokin' out about the edges of the eyes, warm with an arid moistness. I'm not sure what your sneakers might make upon passing that little movement.
Glancing around, I see you again. Your putrescence glows from within me, green against my blue clouds in a sky of morticioust artificial wood grain. It looped me to remember why it hurt there. Elsyways, no red, no dead, head? It calls when you'd least expect it. Just float...down...
twice removed i saw the glimmer, saw the shadow on the pavement, read the letter in the lunchbox, in the birdhouse, on the road. the night i will remember in the darkness, in the shadow as i turn the pages clockwise, see the phantom on the wall. the resivoir incites me, sticks it's needles in my glue, you see the flicker light my candle, send my colors into Fall. the enema is rainbow colored, variations stalk, inspire me, connect and tingle, web in focus, location nowhere open cantalope, i saw the monster, i saw the rude rind, i closed that door and trudged along the carousel.
once i saw the error i never saw the night again. once i saw the mirror i never saw the face of men. look across the void, look into the meat, see the absance synth, feel the heat. one ticket is not enough. three mirits the negative, tough. roll around in carpet bags my precious little worm fiend, licking up the notice of regular customers crawling in the dirt of a thousand ecstasies and i lathered her with all i could to notice the buster the night sticking me up for green back fruit change martyr munchies in the delegate of cream puff garden hooisery lampry feeling entropy lampoon doggy hard flat crayfish bomb crank oil slick me with walrus good god the frank sauce.
We introduced ourselves as Larry and Moe. Knowing not quite where wee'd come from. I opened a bag so they could see for themselves. The tomatos incased us in frieght, but we knew them not. They led us through doorways, through walls between out and in; we flourished dramatically. The sights reflected fantasmagorphically and aflicted with glass, cut and blown from the floor of my room with the reverse-puff cleaning action of 23x scrubbing bubbles, independantly variable as red cream pie laughing in my hair when she touched me, opened my eyes to catipillars and hedghogs hiding behind ternips that felt there and made real.
I always remembered the socks I found cleaning the attic that day. They looked at me as if to say, "Pardon the roof, but we actually sock, if you buzz me properly with your endings." I jumped at the thought of asking them for autosodiographs, but opted for the lonely vegitative covering of Dr. Spock, behind a door of absolute black, as you surely can recall. What's that sleuth done with my tastebuds lately. God, I miss my puppets. Oi, pipe, wait for me!
He couldn't find his hat, so he made his own. He didn't quite know what to do with it! He eventually began working more and more on it, putting on additions and incorporating bits from here and there, and nowhere. It soon became a world in it's own right, his own place to live and breathe. And then one day he took it off. It seamed a long way down, fraught with beans and streams aplenty. It ended up being worth any loss though, as he turned and saw it from without, from the ground that assalted his souls with gravity. And it's glory shone, floating there like some astaroidial castle of hodge-podge. He then saw other hats about it, orbiting it as, yes, it orbited them as well. But they all tied fast to the ground, like his own feet now. As gravity showed him why and how, he no longer held his captivity against Mary, but loved her more in her place. The glass showed him more: the world of the bunnies coming to an end, the races at war within his hat, existance through the eye of a bagel. It explained a lot in a language any fluff can easily understand: polar penguin expiditions to the Atlantic in leauge with sea mammals in search of thier island, the bubbles, the whirlpool; where had it gone? Flow showed them all a light within the most twisted darkness he could inflict, even upon himself. Zen pen fighting causes cramps only to the mystic foetus needing oiling, like my owl painted on her bedroom wall in some underground f(e)ather bus; light blue cheese, of course.
The calm uncovers light. The dream uncovers might. The frame describes the whole. The mind describes the skull. The moon reshines the son. The old becomes the young. The night creates the morn. The day creates the porn. The junk, it gives me treasures. The dull, it showes me plesures. You bring me more than gold. Your taste becomes your fold.
Put down your mask and try a mold. Answer the phone if you need refreshments extra large, in every material, red, gray, or yeller. The grasshopper child needs another dose!
If you worry too much about getting back, you miss the surprise. The void reflects the back door to green liver Sundays, so don't forget:
It's times like these
I can't complain
It seams so right
I can't explain
The sky so clear
The night so young
I hear these words
I've never sung
The trees they show
Thier paths to me
So many ways
To set me free
The rhythm, short,
The method, long,
The stars they show me
This here song
They take me up
On spirit wing
To where all life
Devoid of hate
Devoid of sorrow
I see no more
Now sleep I dread,
That kind eraser,
My true nature
And in my lungs
The night resounds
It's fractured call,
It's pretty fun,
It's marked hatred
Of the sun
brenza speaks, and so samuel listened for the ungodly cries to end, but they never did, so he finally stood and rested on that mound, that thing which we will not care to speak of more, and let it be known to all of his compatriots that this was the last moment in which he would ocupy this space, and flashing like an unimaginably complex formation of psycoactive lightning bugs he lifted upwards from the wreckage and saught the lighter shades of gray in the sprawling uphevalistic benifits of flowering beating dancing insanity with letters to the regional antilope squad filling the room with troup requests and query ques and now the fancy literature stylings of senor creusou will slide into the mix of sensory manipulations and let on up for the liberating freedom of youthful scratchinplay marsupials and so i gave him another time spatula and he took it to his friend's house, and they tried it out. much was thier surprise when they found the funk on thier doorstep, and as it lifted them off in to the night, they sighed the sigh of men content with the downpouring light show and the fog and the wet. and the dry. they centered thier reactions around thier newfound reality sperm whales which flew not only through thier skies, but also through thier minds across the infinate, pulsating fields of tesselating ground earth plant field sky cloud vison environment you I and left it all behind and flew flew flew and where did they fly to, you ask me? I'll do better than tell you. I'll show you, if you'll follow. so, here, we pick it up and check it out. anti-orange heater snakes are often seen at this point, but don't let that bother you. Tis only natural that reality turn unrealistic in unreality, now isn't it. Now look at your tongue. Go on , take a good look. No one's watching, DO IT! there, that's better. mine hurts a bit, but i'll not get into why. not proper. anywho, so you disregard the garter snakes and leap, seeing your options diminished to a single point, and that point isn't you. no, it's not me. it's us. we are we, and we are all together, righto? you may experience or excivate tunnels at this point, and that's perfectly normal. After all, a little psychotic syndrome is a natural part of eating eighty-seven truely large and rougish barbarian warriors for breakfast. what, don't look at me. don't touch me, you slimy pink bastard! there's got to be some way out of here. maybe if i use the laundry chute. but it's infested with maggots. I know, that little girls hair. I'll hide in it, catch a ride, try out her kool-aid techniques on my little daemons, and have a logistics paradise trainspotting and sweater hopping. so, how bout them marmosats? have you been keeping up to date on thier latest devolopments in reality testing theory punctuating experience sequencing lime bannana networking does the bass get you creamy like I know it does? does your back door still glow with the footprints of that rat bastard. well, goodmorning honey, cause here's your tea and krimpits and life flashing before your eyes. there it goes. this is the flash, so flash already. Light them up with your caramel licorice metaphores for space sailing monkeys with large fuzzy yellow bunny slippers and big blue cigars from the Ciguri, not to say you couldn't devise a better plan to do it baby then run with that lemon rind monkeying hemisphere floating somewhere just above my conciousness if I could just jump at a certain angle i'm sure i could have it this is where the effot comes in buddy. this work don't slime itself, get juicy now or i'll lay my hands on far more yeilding flesh puppets yeah sure you will, don't give me that 'tude you fucking flesh-puppet nothingness you have no contol over your situation so i'm comandeering your mind for the good of the movement. bit soggy, but i don't complain, why slimey Bohagers do it all the same, they let on to thier puppies that they've rotten inflame but yesteryear with carcasses and buildings in flame. oh you want a rational thought do you, would that make you feel better? my greatest intent is that you might hear a thing in this that i'm not trying to tell you. do you hear what i'm not saying, man. look. listen. feel. red summer, the leaves unfolding, springing new with multi-hue cream pedistal full puppy podium for all to gaze upon with open veins and so the sun settled down into the vally, had a few kids, a dog, a Chrystler minivan, and visited the folks on holidays, and all was gay GAY? oh shit...and the art of noise brought in a rukus, and the bodies were strewn about the room, can words you write be cloistered cause for violating one's truth with renegades of this atomic aged cheese wizardry and letter running dark side agents at every corner tinkering with how much change you get back at S'leven so i'll reemburse ya, you'll so, but for now go out and break that rukus, or else there'll be no rukus and you'll be beat like your bowl. let's go find us some purple catapillars...fuzzy?...you betcha!
list bubbles. list crazy bubbles. have you heard about what the yen's doing to the mark? oh, yes, quite ghastly, carrying on like that as if Hitler was still in power. go ahead, girlfriend. find my soap, fix the market with your kind words and soft eyes. i haven't seen your car in a while. have you been good, or has someone reposesed your tires? they say you lost your handbag in a foriegn, arab nation, and when the authorities found it, they called the federation and let them know your lipstick is several shades too bright and the runs in all your stockings would give a mom a freight. point: narf!
When counter pointing, blinking, whole, no skin, taking part in illumination at 5:23, can you hear them calling, chanting, wizards of the airwaves, chant, continue, relive life from the other side,
Following the shifting attention span linking units without letting concious energy interfere on any level like a snake rustlin' up a babe in the bush, know what I mean, sonny?
Liquid custard creamy flowing pure everything EXISTANCE
| Thee Rev St of Skuzzbunnies, Sr Elgaroo Brenza du sLAcKE * | * Cytoplastic Ninja Clan, Psychic Enema Division /|\ email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org / | \ http://elgaroo.13th-floor.org/ (()|()) ICQ#: 1979348 \/|\/ "In watermelon sugar the deeds were done and done again as my life is done in watermelon sugar."